


I'm Feeling Love is Here and Then It's Not

by WhumpTown



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Brightwell, COVID 19, Dancing, Dani takes care of our boy, F/M, Malcolm Bright Sleeping, Malcolm Bright Whump, Sick Character, Sickfic, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23307640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhumpTown/pseuds/WhumpTown
Summary: Her world is so far from his and it’s scary to reach out for one another, the distance is so damning.------His skin is mixed with her, a numb heat and he knows in these moments what it means to be so lost within another person to not know where he ends and she begins.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & Dani Powell, Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57





	I'm Feeling Love is Here and Then It's Not

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily influenced by the song Boy by WILLOW  
> 100% recommend giving it a listen to while you read this

“From Dusk Till Dawn,” Malcolm argues, standing on the edge of his bed. His knees are bent where he’s paused in his jumping. His eyes are hardened with seriousness despite the hair sitting on his head a mess from the fingers he’d wrecked through it. The jumping certainly hasn’t helped his image but to her, he’s perfect.

She stops her walking, arms crossing on her chest. “I’m sorry,” she chuckles. “You think From Dusk Till Dawn is Quentin Tarantino’s best movie?” She whistles, shaking her head, “I’m going to let that go for three reasons.” She holds up her hand to count them off to him. “One: you didn’t pick Kill Bill or Pulp Fiction. Two: you have a fever and I’m choosing to let you use that as an excuse of an ailment to hide your poor taste in movies. Three: I know you carry a massive crush on George Clooney.”

Malcolm’s cheeks immediately flush, eyes dropping. It may be true, he won’t deny that, but he still feels slightly mocked. “That’s-That’s not fair,” he pouts, lip poking out and his arms moving across his chest. He drops to his butt on the bed, refusing to look at her. 

Dani melts. “Aw, come on.” She walks over to the bed, throwing her legs over his until she’s sitting in his lap. She crosses her legs behind his lap, bumping his head with hers. “Malcolm,” she digs a finger into his boney side, smiling when he can’t hide his own smile fast enough. “Malcolm,” she places her head on his shoulder, pressing her lips to his neck. “I love you… and I think it’s really cute that you have a crush on George Clooney.”

Malcolm grumbles but wraps his arms around her none-the-less. “I think crush might be a bit suggestive,” he tries to reason but he catches her eye-roll. 

She pats his cheek, making the decision not to engage the conversation further. “Malcolm,” she presses a kiss to the edge of his jaw. Wracking a hand up the back of his head, through his hair. “Dance with me,” she smiles against the soft skin of his neck, letting her legs fall from where she’s wrapped them around his waist.

She grabs his hands, tugging him to his feet. 

“We need music,” he relents, shoulders slumped over as he pretends to want to deny her this request. Dancing, though, that’s his thing. She knows it too. She has no rhythm but to him, through him she can feel the music come alive. His body. The soothing ministrations of his hips, the dip in his smile, and steady hands on her hips. 

She can see it the moment he turns on his stereo. She recognizes the soft cords, smiling as Adele’s sultry voice fills the air. _“-to make you feel my love-”_ the note drags and he spends the soft admission walking back to her, hand extended for her to take. 

She closes her eyes and lets herself be pulled into his arms, chest flush with his. She caves to his touch, letting him set the pace. “Adele,” she whispers turning her head to his shoulder, lips ghosting on his skin as she speaks. “What is it with you and Adele?”

Malcolm chuckles softly, hand slipping to her back. It halts his humming but he turns his head and presses a kiss to her head. “Not me,” he admits softly. “You.” 

A crater forms in her stomach, a silly taunt forming at the back of her mind. Reminding her, always reminding, that they are worlds apart. They clutch at straws to find similarities, a house on fire, not a couple. His love, his admissions as clear as murky water and actions more like oil. It’s confusing. Them. Her world is so far from his and it’s scary to reach out for one another, the distance is so damning.

This instant, right now, she thinks she must be silly. All her doubt… It has to be misplaced because the hand dancing across her back, the lips pressed into her hair it all adds up. It’s all so clear. For a moment, nothing else matters. The morning fights shared between them, his words harsh and filled with sleepless madness while hers shrivel with emotion and die on her lips. They don’t matter. It’s her, flush against his chest, and him lost in the meaning he’s given this song. 

He breaks away, her body filled with a chill as the heat of his body pulls from hers. He’s forced over himself, his lungs spasming as they try to crawl their way out of his throat. The force of his body, the throb of his head, he loses himself to it. Falling hard to his knees he’s aware of her hand on his back, her voice calling him back to her.

“I knew you were sick,” she whispers and it’s not to gloat. Her voice is laced with sadness and he takes note of yet another way he’s managed to hurt her. A hand moves through his hair, soothing circles into his neck and he can’t find the energy to hate himself. The hand moves farther down his body, hooking under his arm, and she pulls him to his feet. 

They stumble when his weight is added to hers, his knees like jelly. He shakes his head, thoughts like condensed milk. “It’s not that bad,” he rasps, hand going to his chest under the scrutiny of her gaze. “I’m fine.”

Never mind the flush in his cheeks and the hallowed pit of his red-rimmed blue eyes. “I know,” she relents, his lie so loud in her head. Torment. Their love is torment. “I’m still worried though.” How can’t she be? Outside his windows a pandemic roars, washing over their city in waves of people risking safety for boneheaded whims. By mouth, they say it prays on the old but Malcolm is not old and neither is she. 

He’s still compromisable. 

An idea, black and slick with trust issues and fear of abandonment, spreads in her mind. Her earlier thoughts coming back to her and for a moment she considers that this pandemic does not rage its war outside. That the homefront has been moved and now she’s watching it spread through Malcolm’s ribcage. It’s in his mouth, in his words, in his kiss…

“I’m not tired, Dani.”

She can see the lie in the corners of his eyes, the way he holds his shoulders like they’re weighing his chest down. The will to argue, to prove to him that he needn’t lie to her die on her lips. Instead, she lets her mouth twist into a familiar smile even if her eyes twinkle with fear and sadness. “I know,” she whispers and she leaves where he stands. Without her hand to guide him to the bed, he stands akin to a boy lost in the halls. Small. Breakable.

With a quick movement, she wipes a tear from her eye but she’s too slow and he sees it. “I know you’re not tired,” she sits on the edge of the bed and lets her body relax. Forces herself to feel her own exhaustion creeping in. “I just… Will you-Will you let me hold you?” She’s bone tired and wired for a fight at the same time. Her body unable to decide what it is that she needs.

Her heart though…

He swallows thickly, eyes unable to leave the soft grey comforter over his bed. He’s terrified to sleep because his dreams will wreak havoc on the softness around Dani’s eyes. She’ll look at him with love and his brain will scream as it reminds him is a broken thing. A puzzle that she cast aside when she realizes she’ll never find all the pieces. 

His eyes burn with emotion but his voice is steady, “you know I can’t say no to you.” He blinks, unsteady movements leading him to her and feet that burn with cold are pulled under the weight of the comforter. His skin is mixed with her, a numb heat and he knows in these moments what it means to be so lost within another person to not know where he ends and she begins.

“I think,” she whispers against his lips, “that I love you.” Her palm cups his cheek, the beginnings of the beard he’s growing shifting with the slow way she traces his face. He is a natural extension from her body. She knows all of him. The crescendo of pleasure that turns the left half of his lip up and lights his blue eyes up. Bravado and lies that hurt his eyebrows and tighten his nose. She knows him and she wonders if that’s bad.

He’s on the knife’s edge of falling and each stroke of her thumb against his bare skin sends him a little further. He’s pudding beneath her, mindless. He moves his face away from hers, pressing into the warmth of her collar. “I love you,” he tells the crook of her neck. He’s certain. 

She won’t deny the way her heart squeezes tight, a smile she can’t contain spread on her lips. “More than George Clooney?” She runs her fingers across his head, messing up his already crazy hair. He hums against her skin, too far gone to react much more to her senseless taunt. She presses a kiss to the top of his head and closes her eyes. She forces her body to relax. Malcolm is in her arms, she can feel his heart beating in time with her own. She pries an eye open, a soft smile spreading across her face as she watches him sleep. 

Everything will be okay, she promises herself because no matter what Malcolm will be right there with her. And, crazy enough, she can’t find an argument against that.

**Author's Note:**

> Does Malcolm have COVID 19? Nah, probably not but he is accident-prone and doesn't eat enough so it's probably just exhaustion or the flu.
> 
> Also, Dani's favorite Q.T. movie is Reservoir Dogs


End file.
